The Honeymoon
by MilesAboveFantasy
Summary: When Miles Hollingsworth is dumped at the altar, he has to find a way to not be miserable after he makes the dumb decision to go on his honeymoon alone.


**Title:** The Honeymoon

 **Summary:** When Miles Hollingsworth is dumped at the altar, he has to find a way to not be miserable after he makes the dumb decision to go on his honeymoon alone.

* * *

Miles barely noticed the chaos of the world around him as he ascended the steps of the plane. The world had been a dull throb around him for the last four hours and 37 minutes, a short time that felt like an eternity since he was left at the altar. It was almost morbid - no, that wasn't the right word the writer in him said - how he was still going to go on his honey moon. Alone.

Depressing. That was the word. It certainly fit. He was pretty fucking depressed right now. Not one of those chronic depressions that kept him in bed or at anger's door steps for months - he'd been there more than once - but the deep depression brought on in the shock of a traumatic event. Getting his heart stomped on sure as hell was that.

A part of his mind worried that this would send him into another downward spiral, but he pushed it aside as he narrowly dodged a kid running wildly down the aisle.

So much for first class, he thought. It didn't matter really. He may be a 24-year-old man who was left on his wedding day, but he wasn't about to take his anger out on some kid. Instead, he sighed and took his seat. Alone.

The empty seat next to him was a painful reminder that his fiance preferred to do anything else with her life than marry him. At least he would be left alone with his misery, he preferred it that way.

He closed his eyes and did his best to drown out the noise of the boarding passengers and announcements of the flight attendants, and sooner than expected he felt his stomach lurch as the plane took off. As his stomach settled, Miles reached forward for the headphones that hanged on the seat in front of him. As he put them on, the world drowned out around him and he was left alone with his thoughts, just the way he liked it.

He was probably crying a bit, though he didn't care enough to check. As long as he wasn't bawling or sobbing, he wouldn't attract any attention. Everyone around him was in their own world. It was a dark thought, but it reminded him of his childhood.

He chuckled out loud at the thought, unable to help himself, and opened his eyes. Enough with self-pity, he thought. Might as well turn this into writing time. Depression manifested well in story anyway. It was how he made it through high school.

With a slight burst of energy at that, he brushed his cheeks to clear some of the tears off, almost less than he expected to his surprise. A flash of flesh shot by down the aisle, momentarily catching him off guard, but he shrugged it off. Probably just that kid from earlier. It was a flight through the States, some mother who was too lazy to parent, he thought. He adjusted the headphones on his head to make them snug, ensuring that he wouldn't hear any of the chaos as the flight attendant riled the kid's family.

He had just removed his pen and paper - while not his preferred writing style, he used it from time to time, particularly when technology was forbidden - when he was interrupted with a tap on his shoulder.

He looked up to see one of the flight attendants, a blonde woman who reminded him of Zoë in stature and felt a bite at his heart. What did she want? He wiped his hands over his face again to clear any tears - surely he hadn't been crying enough to attract attention - and removed his headphones.

"Can I help you?" he asked. He tried to sound friendly but knew he failed. He didn't mean it, particularly to someone whose existence reminded him of his cruel fate, and his voice was scratchy. Regardless, he thought he pulled off cordial at least. It didn't really matter that much. Two and a half hours and he would be off of this plane.

"Yes," the woman said. She had concern in her eyes, so he did the best he could to straighten his face and show that she needn't concern herself with his troubles. Maybe that would push her away.

It didn't.

"We had an issue three rows back," the woman said nervously. "A child was being rambunctious…"

"I saw," Miles interrupted.

"Well, yes, there was an issue. He, uh, threw up on one of the seats…"

Miles made a face.

"… and we would like to place the passenger that was in the adjacent seat next to you. We have the right to place him here as the seat is vacant, though we would prefer your permission."

"Go ahead," Miles muttered. If he had a neighbor maybe he would write instead of cry.

The woman nodded and returned a few moments later with a man. He was tall, about Miles' height, and had a head of curly black hair. He wore a pink shirt under a denim jacket. Normally an awful look, though Miles had to note that he made it work. Probably gay, Miles noted, though that wasn't a concern for him. The way the man held himself further evidenced that theory.

Miles nodded at the man who smiled back as he took his seat.

"Can I get you two anything?" the attendant asked.

"Whiskey - however you wanna make it, surprise me - and keep them coming," Miles said.

The newcomer shook his head. Miles studied him for another moment before turning back to his notebook. He put his pen to the paper, but no words formed. The pen just sat there, slowly spreading its ink in a blotch on the page. It felt like he had been watching it for minutes, but was likely mere seconds.

My brain is fried, Miles realized. He sighed, accepting nothing good would be coming out of this flight. A part of him wanted to turn and talk to the man next to him in some vain hope of getting his thoughts to roll, but all he could do was think about how stagnant everything was in his life. He was just the spoiled rich kid who could never do anything right and wasted his 'genes' on writing. For a moment, he thought that he would get his father's approval by marrying famous, but who was he kidding? A famous movie star wouldn't want him. He may be rich through inheritance, have a nice face, and good in bed if he did say so himself, but that was nothing in this world that demanded that he had to make himself known through his own merits. He had wanted to do that through writing for a while, but he could never finish a book. His family never supported his 'hobby' of writing fantasy and sci-fi anyway. Gone were dreams of writing the next Star Wars.

"You okay?" a voice asked.

It started Miles out of his reverie, and he saw that his pen was still pooling like black blood on his notebook. Nice imagery, he thought. I should use that…

Oh, the guy had spoken to him. Miles turned to him. "Oh, yeah. I guess."

The man humped. "Well, you were looking at your paper like the way my brother looked at his arm after he got his hand chopped off."

Miles felt his eyes widen to saucers. "Oh my god, is he okay?"

The other man chuckled. "Relax. It was a line from a movie."

Miles felt his jaw open slowly in shock and a soft chuckle escaped from his lungs. "I remember now," Miles said. This guy was funny, if a bit dark. "Oh, god, what's the name of that movie?"

"The 13th story," the man said with a smile on his lips. "I'm a movie critic. Movie titles are my specialty."

"Star Wars quote?" Miles asked.

The man frowned.

"Guess not. Revenge of the Sith. Favorite childhood movie," Miles said proudly.

"Nearly twenty years old now, is it? Apologies, my career has me wound up in the world of the modern media, I have little time for older movies. Horror and drama my interest. Scifi was never my area anyway."

Miles grinned. "Well, it is mine. I'm a writer. I guess we both write in a way, don't we?"

The man nodded and was about to speak when the attendant returned.

"Your drink, sir."

Miles reached over the man to grab his drink - a spike of anxiety shooting through him when the man sniffled, but he pushed that aside as he carefully moved the drink as not to spill it on the man. After settling the drink in his cup holder, Miles spoke.

"Sorry, I heard you sniffle. I hope you aren't allergic to anything I'm wearing. I put on a strong cologne earlier, I…"

The man shook his head. "No, no, it smells good. What is it?"

Miles blushed. At least that disaster was averted. "No idea, honestly. It smelled nice, so I bought it." A lie, if minor. Best not to tell a complete stranger that his fiance bought him a fancy cologne, insisted he wore it, then dumped him at the altar.

"Darn. I was never into wearing it myself, but on another, it is quite alluring."

Miles blushed. He was right about the man being gay - well, probably - and he was being flirted with if he had to guess. It made him feel good in a way, considering the sheer rejection he had been feeling all day. Plus, it wasn't like he hadn't flirted with a guy before for shits and giggles. So he played along.

"I try," Miles said. "Though, to be quite honest, I don't need to wear cologne to be alluring."

"I can see that," the man said. Then he offered his hand. "Tristan."

Miles took the offer and shook Tristan's hand. "Miles."

"So, what brings you on this flight?" Tristan asked, introductions over.

Miles chuckled darkly. Of course everything would return to his failed engagement - 37th time now? A ridiculously high number was a safe bet.

"That's quite the story," Miles said slowly, then paused as he reached over to grab his whiskey. It was a short glass, like at a bar. Enough where he shouldn't finish it in one gulp unless he were looking to get shit faced, but not so much where he would only be getting one. He took a sip and sloshed it around on his tongue a bit. Strong, slightly sweet, and abundantly clear that the attendant gave him a good deal. Perhaps as thanks for being friendly over the seat, or maybe she wanted him friendly after they landed…

He downed half the drink before focusing his attention back on Tristan. "A story I am not ready to tell."

"Dramatic," Tristan said with a roll of his eyes. "I love it."

"So, what's your story?" Miles asked, hoping to change the topic.

"Well, you see, my parents divorced when I was fifteen," then Tristan laughed. "I'm kidding. Well, that was true, but anyway, I am heading down to Orlando for a vacation with friends. I had the misfortune to book a flight two days early."

"Not all misfortune though?" Miles asked.

Tristan raised a brow.

"At least you got to meet me!"

"Are you truly so special?" Tristan wondered aloud, though from the smile on his lips Miles could tell that he was at least a worthy consolation prize. Then he realized he was no prize at all, merely a reject.

"No, not really." Then Miles downed the rest of his drink just in time for the flight attendant to return. "I'll take another, and one for him, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, you didn't have to…" Tristan started to say, but Miles silenced.

"It's cool. I need a buddy to get drunk with anyway. That is, if you drink. If not, I'll just take yours and get wasted."

Tristan smiled. "No worries, I do enjoy a good drink once in a while.

A little while later and they were still enjoying one another's company. It was a surprise to Miles to be able to feel anything after the heartbreak this morning, but he couldn't be upset. He would spend the night alone crying anyway, so he would enjoy it while he could. Unless… it was a crazy idea, but…

Miles checked his watch. There were about 10 minutes until their flight would land. "So, Tris, if I can call you that, what are your plans while waiting on your friends to get in town?"

"Probably just sit around bored - or, I could you know, go out on the town," Tristan said with a laugh.

Miles licked his lips. "If you're interested, you could hang out with me."

Tristan gave him a once over. "Okay. Sounds good."

Miles grinned. "My, uh friend, canceled on me, so I actually have a two for one special if you want to tag along."

Tristan nodded, and Miles turned away to hide the look of pain that could be - no, should be - on his face before gathering up his notebook, wondering how long he could refrain from telling his new friend that he was a selfish bastard.

* * *

Well, I have been sitting on this for about three months. Thought I would share to help the death in fanfic lately. Not sure if I will continue, but this should be a fun read as a one shot. Subscribe if you want to be notified of a continuation.


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